Cry for the Moon

The moon is high and lovely in the sky
against the tear streaked crimson clouds
of the nuclear night.
The dark clouds alternately
cover and disclose her
in some obscene display.
She's a solitary flasher
with the grace of a dove in flight.
Pale and somewhat yellowed
as if appalled by her sister's plight
she watched the blossom of colossal light
whose petals opened orangely
against the blue-white earth.
All life died and blew away in a breath.
Mankind was a dream
that could end in nothing but death.
Today space-suited strangers
crept across the moon.
They arrived in a stark gray,
sharp shadowed ship
that slid across the crags and craters
like a lover's caress.
Seeking signs of life
some footprints, a flag,
some dimpled spheres,
and a plethora of junk
confirmed what they'd sought
two days too late.